Page 48 of Blind Luck

Okay, so I might turn blue, but the hypothermia would be totally worth it for those kinds of memories.

“I stayed in an ice hotel once.”

“And? What was it like?”

“Peaceful. No phone signal, no TV, no evening entertainment. Great cocktails. But it’s damn freezing, and you have to sleep in your clothes.” He twisted his napkin in his hands for a moment, and I got the impression he was deciding whether to add something. Finally, he said, “I think ice hotels are an acquired taste. Florence hated it. So maybe just book a night or two?”

“Florence was your girlfriend?”

“She was. We left two days early and went home. She said it was bad enough growing up in Minnesota without spending our vacations freezing as well.”

“Well, I still want to try it.”

“And what other goals do you have?” He focused on his laptop screen again. “A bucket list needs more than three things on it.”

“I want my brother to win the World Surf Tour.”

“This is your bucket list, not your brother’s.”

“Yes, but seeing him win would be the best thing ever. He came second last year, and I know he can do it. And I want him to finally hook up with Maya Torres. Everyone knows they’d make, like, the perfect couple, but they won’t admit it to each other.”

“That should be on their bucket lists, then.”

“Why? Why can’t I wish for other people to be happy?”

“I guess when you put it that way… Don’t you ever want to get married?”

Should I tell him that I’d once been Mrs. Elvis Wilkes? Would he judge me? Maybe if I told him being married wasn’t as fun as he thought, it might make him feel less miserable about losing Florence. And did it really matter if he judged me? After next week or the week after, I wouldn’t see him again unless I tried watching hockey on TV, which I might do because it did sound vaguely interesting. And also a little violent.

“I already tried being married. Didn’t like it.”

His eyes saucered. “You were married? What are you…” He did the math. “Twenty-three?”

“It was an arranged thing. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“How long were you married for?”

“A year, give or take.”

“Smart not to waste your life on him if it wasn’t working. At least there were no kids involved.”

Of all the things Rusty could have said, that one hurt the most. I bit my lip hard enough to sting, but at least it stopped me from crying. When I didn’t say anything, he turned a shade paler.

“There were no kids involved, right? You’re not still tied to him?”

And in a quiet corner of a café in downtown Las Vegas, I blurted out a truth that few people knew.

“We don’t have children, but I…I never got a divorce. I don’t think the marriage was legal because Elvis had four other wives, but I…I just don’t know. Even now I hate being on TV in case he sees me, but I tell myself it’s okay because TVs are banned in the Promised Land.”

After I left, I’d lived in the shadows for years. Alexa had even gotten me a mostly legit passport in a new name—Erin Prince—but then I’d reunited with my brother and it felt wrong to use a different surname to his, especially when I was so proud to be his sister. After some soul-searching and a late-night heart to heart with Kai, when he told me that he’d considered changing his name too, but kept it as a big fuck-you to the Prophet—look what I can do without you—I’d nervously switched back to Kealoha.

“Well, fuck,” Rusty said. “The Promised Land? Is that a town or…?”

“It’s more of a compound. A cult.”

There, I’d said it. My lip was bleeding now; I could taste the coppery tang.

Rusty’s eyes widened again. “You grew up in a cult?”

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